Fred and Cammie

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Fred and Cammie run into one another. Shooting the breeze ensues, as does Texas mockery, and trudging of bad memories...







Cammie was taking up space on the Smoker’s Porch. She didn’t smoke, so that wasn’t the reason she was here. No, she was feeling lazy and working out the day after a training session with Mr. Claws was masochism in its truest form and she wasn’t in to that.



Outside of a few circumstances, anyway. Either way, she had drug a chair out here, sat there and was considering herself the official smoker’s greater today – her blessed day off. She licked her finger and put it in the ash tray, running it around in a lazy circle and then put said finger in her mouth.



Today was… a day, if nothing else.


Fred came outside as he hummed a somber, nameless tune. He'd spent the whole day reading up on meditation techniques, to try and see if something like meditation could help him with his problem, and his eyes hurt from the strain of staring at a computer for so long. He'd decided to take a long desired smoke break, and almost ran into Cammie he was so out of it. "Oh, hey Cammie. What's up?"


She pulled an ash covered finger out of her mouth and shrugged, “The sky, I guess. Or maybe the ceiling. The clouds. The north pole. I dunno.”


Fred gave a hint of a grin, "Y'know, that joke was a lot funnier back in third grade," he said, as he sat on the cool concrete, shaded from the sun. He lit a cigarette, dragged deeply from it, and sighed as he felt the nicotine work its magic.


“Yeah, but it still works. I’m not high, and nothing’s ‘up’,” Cammie said with a shrug.


Fred held up his hands in mock defeat, "Okay, okay. Didn't mean to insinuate anything."



“Rule number one: I always win the fights,” Cammie said putting her finger covered with ash back in her mouth for a moment, “We’re off to a good start.”


Fred dragged off his cigarette, and winked at Cammie, "That's not what Jane says. Then again, she also says you collect Trapper Keepers with Unicorns on them and pictures of the Jonas Brothers..."



“She’s crazy. Can’t trust a thing she says. And I need all that crap for my voodoo,” Cammie returned, “One day, you’ll see. The Jonas Brothers – whoever they are – will be run over by drugged and crazed unicorns.”


Fred did something very rare for the overweight mutant: he threw his head back and gave a fully belly laugh, louder than he'd ever even spoke. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes he was laughing so hard, "Cammie, that may have been the greatest thing I've ever heard," he said, after he finally managed to get his laughter under control.



"Glad to be of service. But who the hell are the Jonas Brothers anyway?” she asked, looking sideways at him.


Fred's forehead wrinkled as he thought, "You know, I don't know...but I keep seeing them on t-shirts and shit..."



“Huh. Then they obviously deserve to die,” Cammie said simply. “Probably some teenaged thing.”


Fred put on a deep, thick mockery of his own Texan accent, "godam' kids with their vidja games and they tiny for-een cars an' their premaritahl relations..."



Now Cammie was laughing, “Too bad you don’t have the cane, you could tell them damn kids to git off yer lawn,” she said, the last part in a perfect imitation of the Texas accent. “Hey, I’ve seen a guy with a cane. Why don’t we go push him over and take it. Then we can wave it at kids.”


"Canes in Texas are only given to people who lost a body part in a war," Fred said matter-of-factly, "Anyone else using one is a wussy,"



“The way I see it, all the more reason to go push down the guy with the came here,” she said
simply. “You don’t have to shake it at kids. Lobbing it would work just as well.”


"If I lob anything at anyone, it's likely to kill them, t'be honest," Fred said as he shrugged and took a drag from his cigarette...


“Which will keep the rest of those damn kids off your lawn,” Cammie pointed out.


"Unless those kids were anti-mutant bigots, then they'd just go get their friends."


“You’re telling me you’re afraid to take on a few idiots?” Cammie asked, raising an eyebrow.


Fred looked around for a moment, and made sure no one else was about. Normally he wouldn't share personal things, especially like this, but he knew Cammie wasn't a gossip, and that she knew what the real world was like. He took another drag from his cigarette, and sighed as he exhaled the smoke, "The night I realized I was different, that I was a mutant...a girl I liked was dancing at a place I worked at. She went out to leave, and run into a few guys who decided they'd wanted a bit more than a floor show. One of them had a gun..." Fred closed his eyes for a moment. He recalled the flash of a muzzle, the slow gurgle of a man drowning inside his own mouth, the smell of a trash filled alley, and shivered. 'Pain's acting up', Fred said-lied-to himself, 'haven't taken my medicine yet today...'



“Sounds like a great night,” Cammie said dryly. “Sorry man. Didn’t know. But I think this proves, Texas is full of idiots and morons. And people will always like bringing guns and knives to fist fights.”


Fred snorted smoke out of his nose, "Actually, I was in Georgia at the time, but the same rules apply. I ended up feeding the guy most of his gun." Fred shrugged a little, "The worst thing was, in the thick of it...I loved it. It felt great, like bein' God's own vengeful hand, feeling like there was nothing they could do to stop me..." Fred shrugged a little, and went quiet for a moment, "So to answer your question: I'm not afraid of what they could do to me...it's the other way around."



She laughed, “Fair enough. Despite being warm and toasty most of the south is a horrible, horrible place,” Cammie said, leaning back in her chair. “And if there was a god, he wouldn’t need you as a vengeful hand. Sometimes it just feels too damn good to cause a bit of damage,” she said with a shrug. “You think I’d be over all of that with some of the shit I’ve done, but nope. I just don’t care I guess. You’re better than me there.”

Fred gave Cammie an earnest look, "The more I've seen, Cammie, the more I'm fairly sure no one is better than anyone else, no one is more right than anyone else. In the end, I'm pretty sure we're all just scared people, running around trying to make sense of it all. Depressing, maybe..." he inhaled more smoke, and blew it out before talking again, "...but kinda nice, in a way, thinking that we're all equal at least in that way." Fred thought for a moment, then chuckled, "I dunno. Guess I'm just talking outta my ass..."


“’Would explain the smell,” Cammie said with a short grin then, “Oh wait, that’s just me. And whatever you say, but I enjoy beating the shit out of people. Good people normally don’t.”

"Not true. Look at Mr. Logan."



“You kidding? The man’s a sadist,” Cammie said seriously.

Fred shrugged "I don't know if I'd say that, but even if it's true, a sadist on the right side of the fence is better than the other way around," and spun his cigarette in the air for emphasis.



“You’re not the one taking beatings from him every week,” Cammie said, “I feel it for days afterwards.”

"True, I only danced around with him once, and admittedly I think he was just sizing me up..." Fred looked from the lawn to Cammie, "But isn't he just trying to help ya?"

“Yeah. If you say so. But one day, I will so kick his ass,” Cammie said. “It’s just getting him to stay down that will be the hard part. I don’t know if I pack enough of a punch for that.”

Fred grinned, "I don't know the man all that well, but it seems to me that if something could kill Mr. Logan, it would have by now...:



“Who said anything ‘bout killing him?” Cammie said, “Just want him to hit the mat once. Even if I have to cheat for it,” Cammie said with a laugh. “Somehow, I think he’ll see it coming.”


"That guy could see God commin'," Fred said, laughing as well. He flicked his cigarette into a small pile he'd been building for the past couple of days, and turned back to Cammie.



“No one’s that good,” she said, “but he comes pretty damn close.”

Fred nodded, "Oh, hey, weird question: you wouldn't happen to know anything about meditation, would you?"



“I know which ones taste okay when you mix ‘em with liquor,” Cammie said. From about fifteen to seventeen she had been obsessed with trying to find a chemical way to kill herself or at least not deal with the pain, “Other than that, not much.”


Fred blinked, then smiled, "No, no, meditation."



“Huh? Oh,” Cammie laughed, she had totally misheard that, “Sorry. Can’t help you there. Mediation, medication, not like any of that stuff actually works. Well, on me. Of course, I don’t mediate. Unless punching people and things counts.”

Fred continued to chuckle, and got to his feet. He dusted himself off, "I'm gonna head into town, maybe catch a flick or something. I've spent so much time in medlab I think it's getting to me. You wanna come with?"



“I do like movies when I sneak in to see ‘em,” Cammie said and stood up and stretched, “Sure we could go stare at one of them new fangled moving pictures.”


Fred resurrected his mocking Texan accent, "So long as it's one of the God-Fearin' movies; no homosexuals or swear words or nuthin'..."



“Sounds like a plan,” Cammie said, returning the accent, “Some good clean fun that’ll be.”

"Remember though," Fred said as he moved toward door the led to the garage, "Violence is okay. The Good Lord has nothing against a good ole' ass whoopin'"